


Hurt Me, Sweetly

by AkumaStrife



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Consenual Brutality, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkumaStrife/pseuds/AkumaStrife
Summary: "You know I love you, right? I have every intention of fucking you like I don’t."





	Hurt Me, Sweetly

Skov blinks, awareness slamming back into him when it had tried to drift away on Swan’s thick fingers. The Words ring through the room, their echoes slamming against air heavy with sweat and smoke. They don’t use The Words often. They’re implied. Relied upon to justify certain behavior and desires and actions. They aren’t a lie, but to hear them so plainly like this… 

Skov breathes and makes himself focus and practically sees the _Good Job_ in Swan’s eyes hovering above him. Fuck, Swan’s big from this angle. Always big, but Skov likes to marvel in all the different angles. “Yes,” he rasps. “I know.” Maybe it doesn’t look like most people’s love, but it’s true all the same, Skov would fight anyone on it. _Has._

“Good,” Swan says. It comes out a rumble, his eyes dark and pupils wide with either the drugs or his own plans. “Good.” He leans in to capture Skov’s mouth in a kiss that’s more the bite of teeth; pushing with his tongue until Skov’s pressed back into the mattress and pliant. “Good, because I have every intention of fucking you like I don’t.”

Skov groans, shivering beneath him, anticipation curling like a sickness in his stomach. He nods. He wants that so bad. Wants to be taken apart by Swan’s capable hands. Craves it like burning. Swan touches his thigh and he obeys smoothly, lets himself be pressed open and knees pinned back, splayed and an offering. The position’s horribly vulnerable, heady, and he feels himself slip away again on sensation and nothing else. With Swan he never has to _think_. 

But Swan withdraws his fingers and grabs Skov’s hip punishingly tight to _flip_ him. Hard enough to make him bounce, but Swan’s already there pinning him down, shoving his thighs apart and shoving his sharp elbow into the back of Skov’s neck. Skov can’t move, his nose is bent uncomfortable into the mattress, he can’t fully breathe. 

He leaks into the sheets as he squirms and pants. 

“Slut,” Swan says on a laugh. “Fuck, look at you. You’re so into this. It’s pathetic.”

Skov says nothing, can only breathe and twist his fingers in the sheets. He shouldn’t even be able to do that. Swan’s going too easy on him. 

Before the thought’s even finished Swan moves and pain flares sharp, his ass stinging with the slap. Air catches so fast in his throat it burns. 

“There it is. Knew you’d like that.” Swan hits him again, letting Skov savor it for a blissful two seconds. He works his arm under Skov’s hips and yanks him up, props him up on bruised knees well enough to grind into the back of Skov’s thigh, between them, fucking into the slickness smeared over his hole. Skov whines and presses back.

“ _Fuck, yes,_ hurry-hurry the fuck up, Swan,” he spits through clenched teeth. Goading, pushy. Sometimes Swan likes that. Today Swan makes a noise that might be assenting but only buries his teeth in Skov’s shoulder. Skov buckles as his hips hitch forward into the barest glance of sheets, almost finishing right then and there; Swan laughs like he knows. 

“Please,” Skov begs. Too soon to be begging, but he’s hard and aching and Swan keeps hurting him, keeps smoothing the hurt with broad strokes of his tongue almost like kisses. “Please, Swan, I’ll do anything. You can—can—“

“Shut up,” Swan says, low and measured. Deliberate enough for Skov hear the threat of violence there. Fondness is threaded beneath it—maybe for Skov, maybe just for the possibility of getting to lash out because Skov’ll deserve it . Skov shakes under the weight of both, unsure which he craves more in this moment. But then, it doesn’t matter what _he_ wants because Swan doesn’t give a fuck about that, Swan’s fixing their position and grinding forward in a familiar press and not giving him time to adjust, not giving him anything when all of this is about him _taking._ And he does, pushing in quick, past resistance without stopping even as Skov buries his face in his pillow and shouts ragged. Swan doesn’t stop until he’s buried full and deep and shoving Skov forward with it, groaning into his ear and sinking his teeth into the shell, tonguing at the piercings lined up the cartilage. 

It burns. It’s too much too fast. Swan’s fucking big and no matter how many times Skov takes him it’s never _easy._ Discomfort blankets any pleasure immediately, turning everything hazy and too hot. He pants and shifts, unable to move very much with Swan pinning him down. So he leans into it, dropping to his chest, arms too weak to support him, back bowed under Swan’s weight and his thighs forced apart and low to the point of shaking. He’s in shape, from soccer and other things, but it never seems to make a damn difference here. 

Swan wears him out like a second-hand dress at prom. 

“ _Pl-please,”_ he finds himself say, unsure how long he’s been babbling it, face damp and lips slick from biting into them too hard to keep back the keen of pain. His mouth tastes of iron and salt, muscles trembling weak, and everything in his head is blissfully empty. More, it’s stuffed full of just Swan; filled with want and the clean burn of discomfort and pleasure muddled together until all his nerves are crossed like stripped wires. 

“You like that?” Swan whispers, strained and rough. He tucks his face into Skov’s shoulder for a second as he fixes his stability, giving Skov’s cock a tight tug before letting go again and huffing at how Skov whines. Moves his hips stuttering but sure—out, in, out, in, _grind._ “You like when I hurt you? S’it good? What you want? S’it like when you imagine K hurting you?”

Skov freezes, eyes snapping open but unseeing, his blood running cold. 

“Yeah,” Swan says in response. It comes out slow, like molasses, like poison. Like a death sentence. “That’s what I thought. You think about it a lot?.” He slaps Skov’s hip, hard, digging his nails in while he’s there. “Don’t fucking think about K when I’m fucking you.”

“N-no,” Skov agrees. He gasps wet and bites at the pillow, keening at the rough pace Swan sets, fucking into him fast and sloppy, chasing his own pleasure, until Skov’s numb with it. “No, I’m, I’m not.”

“Bullshit.” Swan grunts and twists his fingers in Skov’s hair, pulling sharp, punishing, until Skov whimpers and buckles whole-bodied under it. His scalp tingles, tender from the recent bleaching, and aids as another point of sharp focus to keep him from slipping under the muddied bliss. Hands in his hair, teeth sinking hard into his shoulder until he arches and cries out, Swan’s hips grinding into his ass as he pounds into him hard and unrelenting. Skov feels torn in too many directions, kept from going unconscious but distracted from being too present, and he _shakes._

He tears at the sheets, nails bitten down too far to do anything, and tries to move at all. Swan’s hands are on his hips in an instant and yanking him back down into place. He’s going to be littered in bruises and fingerprints, in _bite marks._ He trembles and thinks about what Kavinsky and the guys are going to say, the knowing look in Proko’s eyes, how Kavinsky is going to leer.He moans and bites it off between his teeth for the way Swan takes him in hand again, jerking at his cock to wring it out of him but too rough to actually help him toward the edge. 

“I’m—I am thinking about K,” he admits, ashamed and painfully turned on and close to sobbing when Swan reacts entirely predictable: angry, sharp, _determined._

He’s going to feel this one for days. 

It’s fucking perfect. It’s exactly what he needs. It’s what love should feel like whenever he stops long enough to think about it. With Swan driving into him fast and brutal, he doesn’t have to. 

**Author's Note:**

> also on tumblr, come say hi: http://akumastrife.tumblr.com/post/179029142606/idk-anything-about-the-raven-cycle-so-4-with-your


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